


Always Be Enough

by MidnightLeFay



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Caring Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Confrontations, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute Ending, Episode: s04e06 A Servant of Two Masters, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Insecure Merlin (Merlin), Insecurity, Loneliness, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Memory Loss, Oblivious Arthur, Oblivious Merlin (Merlin), POV Merlin (Merlin), Season/Series 04, Soulmates, Tenderness, Thomas Malory Could Never, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 22:11:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20217100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightLeFay/pseuds/MidnightLeFay
Summary: “He practically ran into your arms, as if you were some damsel in distress!”“WHAT?” Merlin questioned, blood thrumming through his veins. “Arthur hugged me?”═════Merlin's lonely and feels like Arthur doesn't care about him. Then he finds out that Arthur apparently hugged him, which is something that he definitely cannot remember.Confusion ensues.





	Always Be Enough

Merlin had a duty.

In fact, Merlin had _many _duties.

It seemed as though the man could barely find a moment of rest, or dwelling, or _solitude._ He was constantly carrying himself around on a set of tired legs, every cell in his body aching from being carelessly overused. He didn’t have the time to think, couldn’t find the minutes to eat and most _definitely_ did not have the energy to cry. Well, not _too_ often.

Sometimes the sorcerer would collapse into his bed and curl in on himself, willing the world to leave him alone. Tears would wet his face, cascading down his cheeks like silent waterfalls. This would usually happen during the time when it’s difficult to tell whether it’s too late in the night or too early in the morning. In these precious hours, the man would find waves of stifled emotion washing over him, blurring all sense in his mind and engulfing him in darkness.

_He couldn’t fathom it._

He couldn’t understand how although he was constantly surrounded by people and life, and how even though sometimes he wished he could shut it all off and bury himself in some rare independence, the man was unbearably, uncomprehendingly and undeniably lonely.

_Lonely._

The word would bounce around his mind, curling into his limbs and sticking to his bones. He had been in Camelot for years. _Six years. _Despite the time that seemed to stretch out endlessly behind him, Merlin realised that he had been starved from the connections that he so desperately craved. Apart from a few fatherly embraces from Gaius and some brief hugs from the knights, Merlin hadn’t felt any form of affection from another person since… Well, since the days when he was still living under his Mother’s roof in Ealdor.

The thought lay uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach, filling his veins with an all-too-familiar yearning. When this happened, he couldn’t believe that his traitorous mind would even be entertaining the idea of Arthur ever appreciating him, let alone… Well, let alone whatever Merlin’s exhausted consciousness was busy imagining.

In these moments of weakness, the sorcerer would think of his King’s blue eyes, the easy smile he often flashed his servant in the golden sun, the delicate set of his lips… And when thoughts like this crept up Merlin’s spine as slowly as a hunter approaching their prey, he would fulfil his weakness and hypothesise. If the servant was a poet, or a storyteller, or a man with an easier destiny, perhaps he would describe this overwhelming urge as his _heart’s deepest desire._ But Merlin had a job to do. He couldn’t afford to blur the lines between love and devotion.

Sometimes, in the minutes between midnight and morning, when sleep was being chased away with every quickened breath, Merlin would imagine what he really wanted. What he craved with every fibre of his being. And in the darkened haze of his lonely thoughts, the man decides that maybe it could be enough. Just the thought of it. Just the thought of _him_. And _them_. And _this_.

But then dawn breaks, and the thought just isn’t enough.

And Merlin knows that it never will be.

══════════════════════════

It was one of those days. Merlin had been awake for the whole of the previous night, preoccupied with thoughts of ever-looming _destiny_ while staring into darkness. The quiet isolation that the man had come to know like a soulmate was slowly starting to drown him.

_Lonely. Lonely. Lonely._

He had been late to Arthur’s chambers the next morning, nothing but a helpless apology on his lips and a hope that his actions would be forgiven. What he got instead was_ “you are the most useless man in the whole of the five kingdoms, can’t you ever do anything right?”_ and a chalice thrown in the direction of his head. In Arthur’s defence, the cup was definitely off-target, which Merlin knew was intentional. Unfortunately, such a fact couldn’t stop his lips from curling with anger or prevent the harsh glare that narrowed his eyes into daggers.

Usually, he could laugh when Arthur was in such a mood and sometimes even manage to coax a smile from his pouting lips, but _not_ today. In that moment, Merlin could feel the tears from the previous night prickle once again at the back of his eyes, threatening to spill over and humiliate him in front of the person that he was currently raging quietly with.

He had spat out a venomous _“if that’s all, sire”_ and evacuated the room as quickly as he possibly could. If he had used his magic to slam the door extra-loudly in his instinctual haste, well, Arthur would _never_ have to know about it.

Merlin made his way to the woods and blindly paced for a bit, a million thoughts swirling around inside of his head. He couldn’t understand why he was feeling like this. Despite the fact that this unknown weight had been sitting on his chest almost since he had first arrived in Camelot, what he still couldn’t understand was _why?_

_Why did he have this vast destiny? Why didn’t Arthur see him as anything other than somebody that could be easily discarded? Why was he foolish enough to fall in love with the man that he was supposed to save?_

The thoughts broke Merlin’s resolve. He crumbled under his carefully-constructed defences, collapsing beneath the shade of a large tree. He vaguely registered silent tears rolling down his cheeks and clinging to his neck, blurring the green around him and transforming the world into a calming glow.

He lay there for an unknown amount of time, wanting nothing more than to just be close to the person he loved. He huffed at how pathetic he was being, he was certain that if the King could hear him right now then he would call Merlin a _“girl’s petticoat”_ or something equally as useless. He knew that Arthur was stressed beyond belief, he shouldn’t have let any of his impulsive words wind their way into his soul like this. But he couldn’t help it, he just _couldn’t._

Merlin was aware of how their conversations usually went, he understood his own habit of pushing down the deep and lingering affection with harsh words and banter and dismissal. That’s just how it was. And probably how it always would be. Today was just a bump in the road, an overreaction due to a storm of excessive thinking. It was irrelevant. When he saw Arthur again, he would act as if _nothing_ had happened. He definitely wouldn’t say anything foolish like _“I love you”_ or _“I need you to hold me, just for a bit, but preferably forever.”_

Hiding the truth was something that Merlin could do with ease, what was just one more lie added to the mix? It’s not as if he could _say_ anything. It was just another secret. Another layer to his skin. Another thought in his brain. Another reason for his heart to beat. Another crime that would have him burned at the pyre.

_So Arthur just couldn’t know. He would never know._

Merlin heaved in a breath, the harsh contrast of the cool wind against his hot tears causing his face to sting. It hurt. Everything hurt. All the time. Every second of every day. The only time when it didn’t ache was when he was certain that Arthur was safe, when he was next to Merlin, right under his thumb, caught in the line of his peripheral vision. Maybe it was part of the _destiny_ but Merlin was sure that he could feel it within himself when Arthur wasn’t near him… A gaping hole in his chest, a yearning for the man who he wishes he could just wrap his arms around and protect from the world.

_It was too much. It was all just too much._

If Merlin had the capability he would laugh. All of these secrets. All of these _lies_. He didn’t choose any of them, he didn’t _choose_ to be burdened like this. He was born with his magic. He was somehow chosen for this great destiny. He was supposedly the most powerful sorcerer ever, and…

_Why?_

He _knew_ why. He was born to protect Arthur. To serve him. To be at his side. It was just a shame that he also happened to be in love with him. That was something that had quietly happened, a gradual tension building in his chest throughout the endless years. Another thing that he couldn’t push down. It was why he had to keep Arthur at a distance.

_He could never know. He would never know._

And somehow, in the midst of his tears and his shuddering breaths, Merlin decided that he was okay with standing by Arthur’s side and just _being_ there.

_But it would never be enough._

══════════════════════════

When the sky had turned from a bright blue to a fading orange, and when Merlin was satisfied with the length of his sulk, the man stood and decided to wind his way back to the castle. _Back to Arthur. _Merlin laughed at himself, at how _ridiculous_ he was being. The sorcerer was not one to revel in his misfortunes, especially not when the sun was above the horizon. Men like him (along with the the destinies that lay in their wake) were not meant to think about _themselves_ or _what they may want_. Instead, they were simply meant to get on with it. So, Merlin _would_ get on with it. He’d ignore the loneliness that pooled deep within him, he’d ignore his need to _touch_ and _feel_ and _taste_, and he would serve Arthur in the interest of the future of Camelot, of _Albion_.

Not a while later, Merlin was walking through the corridors of the castle, a forced optimism in his wake. The servant needed to go to Arthur’s chambers just to show his face, and also needed to ready himself for all of the objects that were bound to be thrown at him. Merlin guessed that his King wouldn’t be in the happiest of moods, partially because of the fact that his servant hadn’t completed any of his duties all day.

Perhaps Merlin would tell Arthur that he had been in the tavern, because he would certainly rather admit to _that_ than sulking in the forest like a child. Gaius would have a laugh at that, Arthur thinking that Merlin was _useless_ and _idiotic_ and _addicted to the mead. _How funny it was, to constantly lay down your life for the one person that you care about most in the world, only for them to think that you don’t even care enough to wash their socks. _Pathetic_. It didn’t even matter, Arthur would _never_ care about him. Not in any way that wasn’t a master’s need for their servant, and _certainly_ not in lieu of the way that Merlin was so devoted to him.

The servant was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice the suspiciously Gwaine-shaped shadow that was approaching the corner at an alarming speed. So, in the true fashion of the cruel day, the two men collided with each other and ended up sprawled out on the cold floor. _Brilliant_.

“Merlin,” Gwaine beamed, oblivious to the dull pain shooting up the servant's joints, “where were you today?”

Merlin’s brow creased, confusion etching into his consciousness. “How did you know I wasn’t in the castle?”

The man in front of him scoffed and climbed to his feet, throwing his eyes up to the heavens. “Well, just like usual, Arthur wouldn’t shut up about you. Princess was _raging._”

Merlin felt heat rise to his cheekbones as he brought himself to a standing position, Arthur really hated him so much that he was constantly complaining to his knights about him? He wasn’t _that_ bad of a servant, surely?

“Oh,” Merlin stuttered, shame curling into his body. “Well, I wasn’t aware that the King hated me so much.”

There was a quiet beat of silence, and then Gwaine omitted a high pitched sound that could only be described as something between a raucous bout of laughter and a little girl’s screech.

Merlin waited for the laughter to die down, _and when it didn’t_, he shifted uncomfortably. “Why is Arthur hating me so funny?”

All at once the knight’s laughter stopped, his face schooling itself into an impressively somber expression. “Wait, you don’t _actually_ think that Arthur doesn’t like you, _do you?”_

Merlin just stared, a little bit dumbfounded.

“Merlin,” Gwaine continued, thrusting his hands around as if to convey some very important point. “He wouldn’t shut up about you _all day._ He delayed practice by about an hour because he was running around the castle to try and find you. When he came down to the field he was a _grumbling mess_ and put us all through a steady session of _pure hell, _I think I sprained my arm in the process! He was worried that he had upset you, or something like that, it was obvious something had happened, you know how touchy he gets about you.”

The knight continued to look at Merlin as if the servant was actually meant to_ know_ how touchy Arthur got about him. Gwaine wasn’t right, _he couldn’t be right._ Arthur didn’t care about him, the only time he cared about where Merlin was when he had something for the servant to do. _Nothing else._

Merlin laughed, a hollow and humourless sound. “You’re mistaken, Gwaine,” he whispered, sadness painting his vowels. “Arthur has never cared about me. He only notices I’m gone when I’m not there to do something for him. He’s never done anything to show that he actually _likes me_, you know, not that I _mind_ or anything, but maybe it would be nice sometimes if - ”

_“Merlin,”_ Gwaine’s voice was sharp, cutting into the servant’s thoughtless babbling, “what about the time when you went missing for _days_, and he barely _slept_ or _ate_ or did _anything functional,_ and then he got enough proof to assume that you were _dead_, and he still asked me to go out with him to the middle of the woods and look for you. I’m certain he would’ve looked for _days_ if you hadn’t jumped out of that bog, and - ”

Merlin stilled, his thoughts racing into silence. “Wait, what?”

Gwaine just stared.

_“What? _When_ was _this_?”_

Gwaine continued to look at Merlin as if he were particularly thick.

“A few months ago. You know, when you were found in a bog?” 

_Of course._ Merlin didn’t remember because he was enchanted to kill Arthur.

“Oh,” the servant breathed, barely getting the sound out. “Well, I guess that was, erm, considerate of him.”

The knight let out another high-pitched laugh that Merlin swore his Mother could’ve heard in _Ealdor._

“What’s so funny, Gwaine?”

“You thinking he was being _considerate,”_ the man bellowed, causing passing servants to nearly jump out of their skin at the level of volume. “He practically ran into your arms, as if you were some _damsel in distress!”_

_“WHAT?”_ Merlin questioned, blood thrumming through his veins. “Arthur _hugged_ me?”

Gwaine just laughed. “You know, not only did he _hug_ you, but you were also covered top-to-toe in _mud!_ I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so happy in his _life!”_

Merlin just shook his head, trying to stop the rush of _feelings_ from clouding his brain. He couldn’t help himself, he had to go and ask Arthur. Which was probably a _stupid_ decision, but at this point Merlin didn’t care because Arthur had _hugged_ him, and -

“You okay, Merlin?”

Merlin snapped back to reality, trying to not focus on what could only be described as _butterflies_ flying around his insides.

_God, Arthur was right, he really was such a girl._ But Merlin didn’t care. How _could_ he?

“I’m brilliant, Gwaine, really. But I’ve got to go. See you later!”

Merlin turned on his heel, continuing up the corridor.

_“But what about my arm?”_

“Oh, erm, Gaius should be there now. If not, the rub is in the green bottle in the cupboard.” Merlin called to the knight, his voice bouncing off the stone walls.

Unfortunately for Gwaine, the servant was already bounding up the stairs. He had a new-found courage strengthening with every beat of his heart, promising something greater than what he thought he had.

_Maybe it would be enough._

══════════════════════════

Merlin threw open the door to Arthur’s chambers, excitement bubbling beneath his skin. The King was sitting on the edge of his bed, looking contemplatively at the wall. He saw Arthur freeze as he entered, tension holding up the line of his shoulders.

“Will you ever learn to knock, _Mer_lin?”

Arthur said it softly, but the servant could still hear the playful edge to his voice, along with a grappling insecurity. Merlin had always thought that he knew the man so _well_, and perhaps he did, but before he would’ve missed the uncertainty beneath the bravado, the human beneath the character. The servant felt a rush of love so overwhelming that his knees almost buckled beneath him, he found himself reminded as to why falling in love with the the man in-front of him was unavoidable. It was _destiny._ Even if Arthur didn’t feel the same way, at least he _cared. _Him caring, _even if it was_ _just a little bit, _was all the consolation that Merlin needed.

Arthur cared enough to go on a special patrol to find Merlin, at a time when everybody else assumed that he was _dead_. The King didn’t want to give up on him. That doesn’t even include the fact that to Arthur, Merlin was only a _servant_. The man didn’t know about his magic, or _Emrys_, or how when Merlin disappeared (while he was meant to be working) he was usually somewhere fighting for his King’s life.

To Arthur, Merlin was just a strangely devoted man-in-service who often skived off. Despite such a thing, Arthur let him, usually without reprimand. Something that the other servants would find unimaginable. Arthur cared for Merlin, even without a mental preface of destiny or devotion. He simply cared for Merlin because of _who he was_. The thought alone made the servant giddy.

Merlin realised that he had probably been in a state of silence for too long, because Arthur stood up and turned to face him, insecurity showing through his eyes.

“Merlin, I - ”

Arthur paused, cleared his throat, started again.

“I was unfair this morning, I shouldn’t have shouted at you. It didn’t occur to me that you could’ve been late because of something that was, erm, upsetting you. I also shouldn’t have thrown anything at you. So, there.”

The fact that Merlin had never seen Arthur look so uncomfortable in his life, along with the fact that he had just apologised, should have made Merlin both amused and shocked. Arthur was probably expecting a cheeky response, a little bit of teasing, perhaps a thankful reply, but what he got instead was -

“You hugged me.”

Arthur eyes snapped up to Merlin, lines creasing his smooth forehead.

  
  
“What?”

“You hugged me, when I went missing. You went out to look for me. They told you I was dead. _Why?”_

Arthur shook his head, as if to clear a fogginess that had taken over his thoughts.

“Why did I go out to look for you? I need a servant, don’t I?”

“No, why did you _hug_ me?”

“Why are you bringing this up at this particular moment?”

“Because I’m curious?”

“I told you when I found you - ”

“I don’t remember.”

The King’s eyes darkened, his lips turning down at the corners.

_God, he was so beautiful._

“How can you not remember?”

“I think perhaps I was in shock? Sometimes Gaius and I can see that in patients who don’t remember certain things… Or maybe Morgana had put me under, erm, a temporary curse?”

“What?”

“It doesn’t matter why I don’t remember, I just want to know why you hugged me!”

“How do you even know it happened? You forgot what happened that day, maybe your mind is making it up _Mer_lin - ”

“Gwaine told me.”

Arthur’s mouth snapped shut, his eyes bulging.

“Why it matters is that he only told me a couple of minutes ago, and before that I couldn’t remember… I just thought I’d ask you. That’s all.”

  
Merlin hung his head, he didn’t know why he mentioned it. Arthur obviously didn’t want to remember. It had been spur of the moment, temporary relief.

The King cleared his throat. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Merlin. I won’t do it again.”

Merlin’s head snapped up. “You think it makes me _uncomfortable?”_

“Well, why else would you bring it up?”

“Because, I couldn’t remember, and…” The servant faltered, unsure of what to say. “I didn’t think you cared about me, honestly. I thought you hated me. You’ve been stressed lately, _I know,_ you’ve had a lot of pressure on you. I’m an easy person to take it out on. I was just surprised to hear that you went to look for me, that’s all and - ”

The servant was cut off by Arthur striding toward him. _With purpose._ Merlin was unsure as to whether he was going to be hit or tackled. He contemplated such a thought while he stood frozen in his spot, seemingly unable to move.

Not a moment later, he found himself up against Arthur’s body, enveloped completely in his arms. Merlin stiffened out of reflex, the sheer _surprise_ of it all making him painfully unresponsive. He felt the King still, about to pull back as a result of Merlin’s reaction. Before he was aware of the action, Merlin was returning the embrace. He wrapped one arm around Arthur’s shoulders and brought one hand up to his hair, unconsciously rubbing gentle circles into his scalp.

He heard Arthur exhale next to him, a sound of relief. The King tightened the embrace, burying his face in the crook of Merlin’s neck, inhaling softly. Merlin closed his eyes. All of his senses were powerfully overwhelmed, he didn’t know what to focus on. The warmth of Arthur’s body, the strong feel of his muscles against Merlin’s own, the silkiness of his hair, the way that Merlin could smell him, the scent of the expensive soap that Merlin poured into his bath and the freshness of the outdoors and gentle lavender and _Arthur, purely Arthur._

Merlin screwed his eyes shut, willing himself to take in every detail of these external circumstances. He had a faint fear that it would never happen again, and maybe this would be the last time, _the only time,_ and Merlin wasn’t prepared to let this go, _not just yet._

All of the nights that Merlin lay awake, _wishing for this,_ and now it was _actually happening._ He didn’t want to waste a second. _He couldn’t._

The servant felt his isolation evaporate, turning into a lightness and spreading like a stream throughout his body. _This would be enough._ This moment would fuel Merlin forever. He would think of it every time that he would almost die for Arthur, and he would think of it when they were apart, and when they were together, and _all the time._

The man flushed at his thoughts._ Pathetic. I’m being pathetic. But this is just too much._

Merlin felt a sheen of tears coat his irises, this euphoria causing oceans to arise within him.

_I love him. I love him. I love him._

The thought echoed carelessly around his mind, bumping into all of the walls that he had built up and knocking them down with a force that Merlin didn’t even know was possible.

Arthur gave him a short squeeze and then pulled back. Merlin was certain he almost whimpered, bloody _whimpered_, as if Arthur had been standing there, _snogging him senseless,_ rather than just giving him a _hug._

Merlin was cold now. _Too cold. _He missed having his King in his arms, enveloping him in his endless warmth.

Arthur looked at him in wonder, a flush high on his cheeks, his chest moving as if he was breathless.

“Does that answer your question, _Mer_lin?”

Merlin shuddered, Arthur’s voice was _deep_ and _raw_ and like _music to his bloody ears_ and -

“What question?”

“You think I don’t care about you, what do you think now?”

Merlin chuckled lightly, shaking his head. He felt like the young maids that turned into a puddle of helplessness when the King so much as _looked_ at them. Merlin was too old and too powerful for such a thing, but he couldn’t _help_ it.

“Yeah, I think it does.”

Arthur shifted on his feet, the colour on his cheeks growing deeper and more obvious. Merlin didn’t think that Arthur was ashamed, or embarrassed, more… _Overwhelmed. Unsure._

Arthur fidgeted with his hands, often as he did before he had to make a big speech or fight in a battle.

_Nervous?_

“Was that okay with you?”

And Merlin didn’t know what inspired him to do it, whether it was fearlessness or recklessness, but he took a dangerous step into the small space between them and pressed his lips to Arthur’s.

Immediately, Merlin felt Arthur’s lips move against his, which was all the encouragement that the man needed.

He threw his arms around the King’s neck, pulling them together so that they were impossibly close. Since they were the same height, their lips fit together perfectly, like each soft pair was made for the other. There was no strain, no awkward angles, just pure and utter _bliss._

Merlin heard a whimpering sound, which he assumed to be himself, but then to his astonishment he realised that it was_ Arthur. _The servant was certain that he almost blacked out at that, disbelief and love making him dizzy. The King wrapped his arms around Merlin’s waist, intertwining them like a link that was impossible to break.

He felt Arthur’s tongue against his lower lip, just a swipe, but it was enough for Merlin to omit a high-pitched whine. He felt the man smile against him.

Merlin opened his mouth and Arthur’s tongue slipped in, and it was _perfect_, the most perfect thing that had ever happened to him. Merlin felt the tears that had plagued him in this very chamber just hours ago spring back, but now for a completely different reason.

He didn’t know that love could feel like this. The servant had always assumed that it had to be lonely and sorrowful and painful unless you were unusually fortunate, but he never thought that _he’d_ be one of the lucky ones. He just didn’t know that it could feel so _good_, so _beautiful_, so _endless_.

Merlin hadn’t thought that what he felt for his King could grow any stronger, but it did. It grew and grew and grew _so much._ In his delirious state, the man was almost certain that his chest was going to _burst_.

After what could have been _seconds_, or _minutes_, or _hours_, Arthur pulled back and opened his eyes, staring at Merlin with a look that conveyed exactly what the servant was feeling in his heart. While he was catching his breath, he leaned his forehead against Merlin’s.

“Does that answer your question, _Ar_thur?”

The man in front of him laughed, his eyes crinkling and his elation shining clear in the air between them. He pulled Merlin into his arms once again, securing him in a warm embrace. Arthur rested his head on Merlin's shoulder, the king's lips connecting to his servant's neck.

_Yes, _Merlin thought. _Yes, this will always be enough._

** _The End_ **

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are appreciated :)


End file.
